


Walking Out

by ElizaHiggs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, But still a bit sexually graphic, F/M, Love, POV Remus Lupin, Remus Returns, Wizard Angst, not smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 05:54:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7031740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizaHiggs/pseuds/ElizaHiggs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus decides to return to his wife, and he and Ted Tonks have a conversation | POV Remus</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walking Out

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah I thought I'd gotten this ship outta my system with the last series. Not so much. Apparently it was time for some first-person POV exercises.
> 
> I never believed Remus in DH when he says "even her own parents are disgusted by our marriage." I don't know why. He seems so desperate in this scene, I can imagine he'd believe all sorts of things that aren't true. 
> 
> I own none of these characters.

I could've just asked for a divorce. I could've taken the legal way out, the _appropriate_ way out. I could've freed her from the burden of being my wife.

But I don't want her to stop being my wife.

This way - by walking out - I still get to be married to her. I still get to call her my wife.

I slept with her, the night I left. I knew I was walking out that night, I knew it was wrong, and still I slept with her, because I wanted to remember. I kissed her, everywhere, because I wanted to taste her one last time. I spread her legs and ran my tongue over her swollen clit until she came, because I wanted to hear her voice break over my name the way it does when she's in that state of ecstasy right before orgasm. After she'd come, I'd fucked her, because I wanted to let her name roll over my tongue one last time, in that way that feels like it's drawn from me as I come, the way she permits only in bed: _Nymphadora_.

Afterwards, it had taken me forever to gather the resolve to dislodge myself from the bed, to disentangle myself from her arms, because I'd wanted to lie there forever. 

I want, I want, I want.

I can't stop myself from wanting, so I removed myself from the situation. I convinced myself that I could still help the Order - still be useful - if I could find Harry, help him on whatever mission Dumbledore had left him. 

But he turned me away.

Which is how I ended up at The Leaky Cauldron, drinking to take the edge off the thoughts in my head. Three firewhiskeys deep and it's helping with the anger towards Harry, but not with the longing for Dora, and I have a wild urge to run back to her, throw myself at her feet and beg forgiveness. I have a different urge to hurl my empty glass against the wall, but instead I set it down with a loud _thunk_ that does nothing to relieve any of my anxieties.

A witch at the table next to mine glances over at me nervously, and I think it's because of more than the _thunk_ , I think it's because she recognizes me. I can see her thinking, _Isn't that...?_

Remus Lupin, notorious werewolf. 

I resist the urge to pull a face at her. It's something Dora would've done, if she were here.

And if she  _were_ here? If I ran back to her, and she forgave me, and she were sitting here with me at this table, wouldn't she be subjected to the same judgement that I face, the same disgust, for the rest of her life?

No. Harry is wrong. I did the right thing by leaving; the best thing I could've done for my wife and unborn child. He doesn't understand anything.

I get up to use the restroom, and once I'm there, safe behind the door and hidden from prying eyes, I rest my burning forehead against the cool, tiled wall and let the pain wash up over me in waves. When the nausea subsides, I place my hands on either side of my face and push myself up off the wall. My father's wedding ring glints mockingly at me from my left hand. My mother's ring is on Dora's. Or was. I wonder if she's taken it off yet. 

Harry is wrong.

Except. 

Except he  _does_ know exactly what it is like to grow up without a father. And I don't. Whatever else my terrible childhood was, I had parents who loved me. Who sacrificed everything to keep our family together. Just as James and Lily sacrificed everything to protect their son.

And here I am, drinking myself into a stupor instead of facing the existence of my own child. How will my child feel, when he learns that his father not only abandoned him, but ran out _because_ of him? What will Dora tell him?

Harry was right about one thing. 

I am a coward. 

 _It's not too late,_ whispers that eager little voice in my head. The part of me that does nothing but  _want._ I think of the cold, rented bed awaiting me upstairs and the nausea starts to return. Barely two months of marriage in thirty-six years, and yet after only three days away already I cannot bear the thought of spending another night alone. Then I think of sleeping alone for the rest of my life and my resolve wavers and I think:  _I should go back. What if Harry is right, and my child needs me? What if Dora needs me? What if the worst happens, and he_  is _like me_ _, and I've doomed my wife to raising a werewolf alone? I want to be there, I want -_

No. 

No. What I _want_ is for Dora to be happy. To be protected. In the best case scenario - what logic tells me is the likely scenario - my son will be healthy and lovable, and Dora will meet someone else, someone who will love her and the child without endangering them. They will be happy.

I imagine her owling me divorce papers. I imagine her in bed with another man. 

And I hurl myself into stall behind me and empty the contents of my vicious stomach.

x

Outside of Dora's parents' house, everything is still. It's late, but I can see a light on in the kitchen so I know they must be awake. I think of Dora agreeing to marry me and cast a corporeal Patronus. I watch the silver wolf trot into the house with a bravado I'm not sure I possess. It's a cold night for late summer, and in spite of all the firewhiskey, I'm shivering as I wait for someone to come out, let me past the security charms. 

After several minutes of waiting - and I'm not sure how long it is that I'm just standing there, outside the front garden gate - it occurs to me that no one may be coming. Perhaps Dora will simply ignore me. This possibility had not occurred to me before, and I shiver harder. 

Just as I'm wondering how long I ought to keep standing there, the front door opens, and a figure emerges. But it isn't Dora. It's Ted. 

My heart sinks, and what courage I had leaves me, but I'm frozen to the spot. He approaches the gate quickly and his face is hard and he doesn't look like Ted at all.

He waves his wand, and the wards lift just long enough to allow me to stumble past the little white gate.

I can't look at Ted. My eyes find the windows of the house again. I can see now that they're all dark except for the kitchen. Dora may be in bed. She may not even be here. She may be on a Mission. She may have taken off after me. The Death Eaters may have come back for her. If she's not safe - 

"Dora," I say desperately, trying not to think about thick my voice sounds. I don't think I've spoken since I left Harry in Grimmauld place. "Is she - "

"Dora's fine." Ted's voice is as steady as mine is frenzied, as hard as his face. "She's asleep. She doesn't know you're here yet." 

I look up into his set face, and for one wild moment I think he's going to curse me. Attack me. I wouldn't blame him if he did.   

But he just turns and walks a few paces to the little bench along the garden pathway that leads to the house. He sits down and gestures at the space next to him. "I want to talk to you first," he says, and there's no arguing with his tone of voice. 

I sit down next to him and stare at my hands. I've always liked Ted - everyone likes Ted - and he's less than a decade older than me. In another life, perhaps we would've been friends. But what do you say to the man whose daughter's happiness you've ruined?

Amazingly, Ted produces a Thermos from under his robes, and I smell coffee. "Here," he says, opening the container and passing it to me. "Drink this, you look like shit." 

My hands are shaking, and I'm keenly aware that Ted is watching me closely. I wonder if he figured I would be cold, or drunk, or both. As it is, I'm both. The scalding liquid is comforting and not spiked with Veritaserum. 

When I've had a few swallows he clears his throat. "So why'd you do it?" he asks quietly. Almost gently.

For a moment, I'm not sure which of my sins he's referencing - marrying their daughter, knocking her up, or abandoning her - and then I realize that of course, he means abandoning their daughter after I'd married her and knocked her up. 

Ted is looking at me sharply, but I can't quite meet his eyes. "I thought you'd be relieved," I say, and it's not an accusation; I'm not deflecting; it's just the truth. 

"That's why you left?" Ted asks sharply. "Because you thought we'd be relieved?"

"No," I say, too quickly. And then: "Yes. Because - because I thought everyone would be relieved. Because I thought Dora could have her life back. I thought the child would have a better life without me." My voice is still too rough. I pause and take another swig out of the Thermos. "I thought I was acting selfishly when I married Dora. I thought that, no matter how much we loved each other, I must be acting selfishly if I could allow her to ruin her life like that. I couldn't face it when I realized I'd ruined not just her life, but an innocent child's. A child who didn't have the choice she did. I - I couldn't face it. So I left."

There's a small silence. I think maybe Ted is waiting to see if I'll continue, so I drink more of the coffee to signal the end of the confession. 

"And what made you change your mind?" Ted asks, and his voice has softened again. 

"Harry," I say simply, and Ted's eyebrows knit together, but he doesn't interrupt me. "He told me no child would choose to grow up without a father. He convinced me I was acting selfishly by running. Because I was only listening to my own fear. I wasn't really thinking about what Dora needed. Not what - the child needs."

Ted sighs and looks up at the stars, his hands on his knees. The moon is a sliver. "Harry and Ron and Hermione - they're all right?" he asks.

"Yes," I rasp. "They're fine."

He nods, still looking up at the sky. "I'll owl the Weasleys and let them know." He pauses and looks back at me. "Dromeda and I have never disliked you, Remus. Or, I should say, we didn't. You have no idea how much I dislike you at this particular juncture."

I flinch, but Ted's face isn't hateful. It's thoughtful. He nods slowly and continues, "But in about seven months, you'll probably start to have an idea." 

My own daughter. I smile in spite of myself. I realize I'd been picturing a boy all along, but she could just as easily be a girl. For the first time, the thought of the baby feels like hope. 

I hope she's exactly like Dora.

Ted smiles back, a bit. "I know you can be a good father, Remus," he says gently. "A good husband. Don't let your fear rule your good heart."

I glance hesitantly up at the darkened window I know belongs to Dora and the longing for her returns, sharp and intense. It's still entirely possible she won't take me back. Won't want me. 

Ted interprets my dread correctly. "She's still wearing her ring, you know," he says, very quietly. "I don't think she ever lost faith that you would come back."

The pressure on my chest lifts ever so slightly. I nod, grateful for the courage and the coffee, but still not sure if I've been dismissed. 

"Go," he says, nodding towards the front door, "Go to your family and beg your wife's forgiveness. And Remus," he adds as I stand, "don't leave again. Please." There's a note of pleading in voice, and I realize he's begging _me_ for his daughter's happiness and my throat closes for good and I cannot speak, so I meet his eyes and nod, once. 

If she'll have me back, I'll never leave again. 

 

 

 


End file.
